


Nothing Good Comes Easy

by Inisheer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: #BuckyNat Week, #Smut Saturday, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6517660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inisheer/pseuds/Inisheer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Natasha have sex across five continents. There’s even something like a plot. Kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Good Comes Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I've never written smut before.

**New York**

 

Natasha had once listened with amusement to Pepper’s retelling of the slow build-up to her first time with Tony. There had been dates, chaste dances, lingering kisses and touches that promised more but did not immediately deliver. It had driven Tony (this was Pepper’s point, shared over red wine and leftover canapés) almost round the bend. 

She’d never tell either of them, but Natasha had quietly sympathised: the idea was as strange to her as it had clearly been to him.

In her world it wasn’t like that. She’d known before she kissed James where the night would end. They moved hesitantly, hands searching, lips flush against each other’s skin. _Everybody needs practice,_ Natasha had told another man once, and she had plenty, but at the same time each new body required a new set of skills to be learned. She was willing to put in the effort, given that she hoped - planned - to be here again; so Natasha moved cautiously, testing out each region of him for the response it elicited, and indulgently allowing him to do the same with her. She grinned in satisfaction at the eager, desperate cries she drew out of him, at the way he came undone by her touch. 

He was impatient enough to almost overspill before she’d even guided him inside her. They moved in a fractured tandem as James thrust with his considerable strength for less than a minute, then came, juddering and going as floppy as a puppet with its strings cut. It was beautiful.

When he’d pulled out they sprawled on the bed, sheets kicked to the floor, the sweat on their skin cooling in the air. James twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers. ‘You haven’t…’

‘It’s OK,’ said Natasha, with a kiss to smooth away his slight frown.

‘Yeah, but - whatever you need, I’m happy to -’ 

‘Assist?’

‘Sure thing, ma’am.’ James’s hand traced over her hip, then spiralled inwards. It was nice, she had to admit, and she did appreciate it - but Natasha knew she would need to distract him before his endeavours led to frustration on both their parts. This wasn’t usually a problem. Trust James to be different.

She was saved when a door slammed. They both froze. For a handful of seconds they remained still, listening, only to relax as it became clear from the footsteps and clink of keys who’d returned home early.

‘Goddamnit, Steve,’ muttered James.

Natasha buried her face in his shoulder to muffle giggles like the schoolgirl she’d never been while James and Steve held a conversation about toilet roll and toothpaste through the bedroom door.

 

**Over the Bay of Bengal**

 

The engines’ low thrum vibrated through the lower hold of the quinjet, where Natasha shoved James roughly up against a metal siding and stifled his groan with her lips. They were mud-stained, blood-spattered, high on the rush of battle and danger. Weapons and then clothing were strewn across the cramped cargo hold.

They turned so that she was the one with her back to cold metal. James lifted her by the ass and supported Natasha between his body and the siding. Natasha hooked her legs around his waist, hands in his hair, while he entered her. It took them only a few thrusts to find the now-familiar rhythm.

She whispered words of encouragement in his ear, kissed the soft skin immediately below, traced a line to the stubble on his strong jaw. She wondered if anybody upstairs would hear them. They were making some effort to be quiet, and when James shuddered and unspooled inside her he did so with a bitten-back moan. But sound carried, and certain people had very good hearing - and Natasha didn’t care.

They untangled and stood there, heaving, spent, staring at one another. Natasha broke first, ending the moment by leaning in for another gentle kiss, because the way James looked at her made her feel warm and wanted and it was equal parts wonderful and terrifying.

 

**Quito**

 

When they had finished Natasha rolled off him, admiring her work and the state she’d left him in. She thumped down breathlessly onto her back. They lay there for a bit, in the dark, listening to the air conditioning and traffic on the streets below.

Then James said, ‘Natalia,’ in a tone that meant trouble.

‘Hmm?’

He lifted himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her. Natasha bit back a sigh. He didn’t seem upset, but it was very definitely a _serious_ expression. And here she’d been hoping to relax.

‘Natalia, what’s going on here?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’m not an idiot. I’ve noticed that you never…’ He made a motion with his free hand. ‘Finish. And that you don’t wanna talk about it but, Nat, I think we need to talk about it.’

Natasha paused. There were several places this conversation could go, and she had to admit that the truth would head off the worst of them. ‘It’s nothing personal, James. I just - that doesn’t happen, not with anybody.’

Dawning realisation. ‘Oh, Nat. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It’s not your problem. It’s not a problem at all. It’s hardly like I’m not _enjoying_ myself here.’

‘So it’s not a problem,’ repeated James. He rolled away, sitting up, and gestured expansively. ‘You’re missing out on one of the best things in the world and it’s “not a problem” _._ For fuck’s sake - what, did you think I wouldn’t care?’

‘No,’ she said, harsher than she meant. ‘It’s nothing. I never do and I never have - not with somebody else - and it’s fine. I didn’t want to worry you.’

That earned her a cold look. ‘Right, and I’m the idiot who didn’t notice sooner.’

‘You’re right. Most men are more observant when they can’t satisfy a woman.’ Oh, why had she said that? It was cruel. It was low. It was, in Natasha’s - fairly extensive - experience, almost the opposite of true. (But she’d never faked anything, not with James, so that was different.) And it had exactly the effect the scared, defensive part of her wanted.

James flinched. ‘Is that what you think this is?’ He shoved the sheets aside and stood up. He wasn’t storming off, just distancing himself. Natasha sat up and pulled the sheet around her knees. ‘No, you don’t. You’re smarter than that.’

‘Then it doesn’t bother you at all,’ Natasha taunted.

‘Maybe it does, but I know it _isn’t the point._ ’

‘Then what is?’

‘The point is -‘ James hesitated. ‘The point is that you’re trying to convince me it doesn’t matter. That you don’t care yourself. But obviously you do or you wouldn’t be trying to make this about me instead of facing up to your own issues. If it really didn’t matter I’d believe that by now.’

Natasha couldn’t look at him. She breathed out slowly and forced herself to bite back the words that would turn this into a real, vicious argument. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to… Come back to bed?’

James swayed for a moment. Then he slipped in between the sheets again. Natasha pulled his head onto her lap and ran her fingers across his chest. He was still tense; they both were. He huffed at her.

‘It’s not that you can’t,’ he said, slowly, deliberating over the words. ‘It’s that you’re acting like you don’t deserve a chance to try. That’s the problem, that’s what hurts, and that you obviously don’t understand why it would bother me to see…’ He placed his hand over hers. ‘Of course I worry. I care about you. It’s a whole thing.’

Natasha managed a bitter laugh. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

James continued: ‘I know it’s not an easy thing to fix, and maybe it can’t be fixed, but that doesn’t mean you need to just accept it. You deserve to - at least try - to figure it out. You know? And I’m here to help you, if I can. OK?’

‘OK.’ She smoothed his hair down. ‘You think I deserve more than I do.’

James smiled, and she felt the worst of the tension dissipate. ‘Right back atcha, Red.’

 

**Outside Dar es Salaam**

 

Natasha lay at the end of the bed, settled among a pile of cushions, legs resting on James’s shoulders. He knelt on the carpet in front of her and she looked at his dark head for a moment, then leaned back to gaze up at the ceiling.

‘Lots of people would call you brave, you know,’ she said.

James flicked her hip with his hand, because his mouth was too busy to reply.

 

**Donetsk**

 

‘I am _never_ doing that again.’

Natasha slammed the door and leaned back against it. James was further into the room, bent double with laughter - they hadn’t run far enough for either to be out of breath - and wearing only underpants, a rumbled shirt and one sock. Natasha still had most of her clothes. She’d left her shoes behind. She spared a second to be annoyed about that. They were nice shoes.

So if a couple of super-spies had wanted to get busy in the ambassador’s suite then they could, if they preferred, have ensured there was no risk whatsoever that anybody would catch them - but where was the fun in _that?_ As it happened, they hadn’t actually been caught, as such. They’d just been forced to make a hasty exit. Via a window. And across a courtyard. _Deshabille._

She wasn’t really mad; James’s laughter was infectious. Natasha strolled across the floor, a smile spreading across her face, and pushed him onto the bed so that she could straddle his lap. They kissed, barely pausing to let Natasha pull her own shirt off and toss it, then tumbling into a heap on the bed itself.

‘Natalia,’ he breathed. His hands were on her back, one cool, one warm. ‘Natalia.’ From his lips her name sounded like something secret and precious, a blessing, a benediction. ‘Natalia.’

‘James,’ she replied. Then, grinning: ‘Jamesjamesjamesjamesjamesjames.’ Her fingers searched for the ticklish spots around his abdomen. James wriggled, grabbed her hands, and flipped them over to pin her wrists above her head. ‘James,’ she said again and, laughing, he bent to kiss her.

‘You’re awful,’ he said.

‘I know.’

They shed the rest of their clothes and, for no particular reason, traded the bed for the carpeted but otherwise solid floor. Here Natasha straddled him again. ‘Hey,’ she said, leaning in close, ‘Talk dirty to me.’

His eyes glinted.

‘The kitchen is full of unwashed dishes,’ he said, in a low, sultry voice. ‘The trash is overflowing, and there’s cat hair all over the sofa -‘ Here Natasha lost her composure and burst into laughter. ‘What is it, baby?’ said James, in mock confusion. ‘Not what you wanted?’

She flicked a lock of hair against his nose. ‘You’re awful.’

‘I know.’

‘And you’re getting my shoes back for me.’

‘I am.’ He brightened: ‘So can we do it again?’

 

**Seoul**

 

Natasha had stayed in many nice places in her time, but she’d rarely been a guest at a hotel quite as swanky as this. Their room overlooked only one of the rooftop pools. There were silk dressing gowns, heated floors, two fluted glasses next to a bottle of champagne. And the view - that was spectacular.

She returned from recon before James, not too tired but grimy and with aching muscles from a day’s trek around the city. Natasha proceeded to draw herself a bath, open the champagne and settle in for a soak. The water was cooling when she heard the door open and shut again, so she climbed out, pulled out one of the silk dressing gowns and went to meet him, carrying the champagne bottle. 

James grinned when he saw her. ‘You leave any of that for me?’ he asked, in the middle of pulling his boots off.

Natasha hummed and poured out a glass for him. He was right - there wasn’t much left. ‘We can order more. How’d it go?’ she asked, and they compared days, mission details, and all the other work stuff over the remainder of the champagne. By the end of the bottle Natasha was starting to hit that bubbly sort of tipsiness typical of the drink - it took a good few glasses - and she was happy to let the day fade into the back of her mind.

‘Are we getting ready for dinner?’ asked James.

‘It’s no hurry,’ said Natasha, hand creeping up his leg, ‘Dinner’s ages away.’

‘Oh? Then what do you want to do?’

‘I’m sure we can think of something.’

Ten minutes later, over the start of a second bottle of champagne, James whispered in her ear, ‘Hey. How about a massage?’

‘I think they’ve all gone home…’ She _was_ tipsy.

‘No, I mean. I’ll give you one.’

‘Do you know how to give massages?’

‘Would I offer if I didn’t?’

‘Yes,’ said Natasha, but she had already rolled over onto her front. She felt his hands ripple over her shoulders, light and explorative. He managed to hit sensitive areas a couple of times and make her squeak, apologising quickly, but apart from that he did seem to know what he was doing. She felt the knots knead out of her back in a way the bath hadn’t been able to achieve.

‘Mmm. Very nice.’ She turned her head to look up at him. ‘You know you’ll have to do this again sometime.’

‘Of course. Do I get one in return?’

Natasha sat up, glancing at the time. ‘Absolutely. But not right now. We need to get ready for dinner.’

‘Aw.’

‘No, come on. I’m hungry,’ she said, and she pulled the dressing gown back on, and gave him a kiss that said dessert would be worth waiting for.

 

**Arizona**

 

‘You’re an idiot.’

The dry, dusty scrubland rustled and chirruped with the movements of small creatures around them. High above, the Milky Way splashed across the middle of the sky amidst a dome of tight-packed stars. The view might be amazing, but it was also the reason for Natasha’s comment: they didn’t have a tent.

‘It’s not that cold,’ said James.

Natasha didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. James knew enough fieldcraft to understand exactly how cold it would be in a few hours. They were practically in a _desert._

She tugged him close instead. ‘I hope you’re planning on keeping me warm.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said James.

 

**Paris**

 

Morning light filtered through deep velvety curtains and flowed across the bedroom. Natasha woke slowly, listening to the cooing pigeons outside for a few minutes before she’d registered where she was, and why, and that James was watching her.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’

Natasha considered coffee and decided against it. She couldn’t be bothered to move further than it took to reach James for a lazy kiss. Their lips and tongues moved together, easily, careful and careless all at once. Then James pulled away to trail soft kisses over her jaw, her neck, nuzzling in at the place where her pulse beat and again at the hollow of her throat. Natasha gasped in quiet delight. His fingers circled her breasts, feathered down over her belly and gently touched the ridges where he’d once put a bullet in her side, then moved up to follow the veins on her wrist and the lines on her palm. 

Head line. Heart line. Life line.

She closed his hand firmly in hers and pulled it down between her legs, falling open, a tacit instruction to focus his attention there. With the other hand Natasha tangled in his hair and pulled his head up to kiss again, hungry for the taste of his lips. James kissed back, a slight frown of concentration on his forehead. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry: his fingertips at first barely brushed over the inside of her thighs, teasing, sending light curls of pleasure up her legs. When he did touch her clitoris, the sensation was enough to jolt an, ‘Oh!’ out of Natasha.

After a moment James moved away, back to the inside of her thighs and over her ass. He returned to stroke the sensitive spots there, then rested his hand over the tendon at the base of her leg and shifted focus upwards, planting kisses on her collarbone and breasts and hard nipples: one for a few minutes, then equal care to the other. Natasha reached up to massage the suddenly bereft first while James licked at the second, eyes lidded and dreamy watching her touch herself. She could feel a hot flush of arousal rising in her cheeks, along with an insistent pulsing lower down, and she savoured both.

James’s hand moved again, slowly, rubbing at an angle and intensity he’d learned she liked. He slipped one finger inside her, easing, exploring. ‘ _Yes_ ,’ breathed Natasha, yes, very nice. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

‘You’re not going to fall asleep on me, are you?’ murmured James. His movements slowed.

‘Don’t _stop_ ,’ she hissed.

He didn’t. He couldn’t be everywhere, though. Natasha brought her own hand down to stimulate her clitoris. She found the place so slick and wet it was hard to gain any traction without first rubbing some of the wetness off onto dry skin; and then their hands bumped together, searching for a matching rhythm. When they did find it she bit back a moan. A moan meant release. Right now she didn’t need release but to hold the sensation taut and narrow in on it; to concentrate on the bursts of pleasure, peaking and fading back, each more intense than the last, on his fingers, on hers, scent and movement and body and touch. She was breathing hard. James. James. James.

‘Faster,’ she said, her own hand speeding up to match as James obeyed. Faster. Harder. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. _There -_

There, the fall, the wave crashing down in a surge of exquisite humming pleasure. Natasha felt a shudder pass down her body, and now she couldn’t stop herself from crying out and didn’t want to, head thrown back, James’s mouth open on her exposed neck, James, God, _yes._

They both kept going until the last tendrils of feeling had been chased down and the sensation had faded and dissipated through her. When Natasha felt herself raw under her fingers she withdrew them. She slumped back, panting and satisfied, and blinked her eyes open.

‘Huh.’

He knew. That was clear from his half-smirk. ‘That good?’

‘Not awful.’

James groaned and collapsed in a pretence at despair. Natasha burrowed in under his arm. He rolled over on his back to let her snuggle close. He was hard but that seemed less than urgent; Natasha thought she might feel ready to investigate in a few minutes. For now, she settled on dancing her fingers across his chest.

‘We’re never getting up, are we?’ she asked.

‘Maybe. Eventually. We’ll think about it.’

‘I’m thinking about it. I’m thinking about all the things we’d have to _do_ , like cooking and cleaning and, oh, standing up…’

He poked her. ‘Stay awake, Natalia.’

‘M’awake.’ It was true, really. She felt dreamy and contented but also kind of buzzing with energy, not like falling asleep at all. She felt James shaking and squinted up at him. ‘What? Stop laughing. And stop looking so pleased with yourself.’

‘I’m not laughing.’

‘And I’m not an Avenger.’

‘If you say so.’ He looked like he had something else to say, but that he’d decided against it before he went with, ‘You’re beautiful. You know that?’

‘You only tell me, like, all the time.’

‘It’s true.’

He was giving her that look, the one like he thought she’d hung the moon and the stars in the sky and could hardly believe she’d come down to grace him with her presence. The one that said _love_ , though they’d never spoken the word. The one that frightened her, sometimes, to see so plainly the way he felt about her - almost matching the intensity of the way she felt about him - but right now she couldn’t remember how to be afraid. Natasha smiled at James.

‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

She was going to tell Pepper _none_ of this.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BuckyNat Week 2016 (Smut Saturday, slightly late).
> 
> I… apologise for the title. I'll be in my trashcan.


End file.
